Cursed

by Melissa Michelle Green

  He wandered back to the hotel, thank you Google Maps, but stopped across the street and watched a woman exit a taxi. She appeared stressed but not flustered, getting out of the car gracefully before the driver could open the door for her. She hauled her purse and a small bag out with her, and when the driver pulled her suitcase out of the trunk, she tipped him and said something, but didn’t smile. She paused a moment, looking around, as if to get her bearings. Great figure, and he lived in LA., where you couldn’t throw a scalpel without hitting someone that looked like they’d stepped off the set of Baywatch - or it’s current version. Curvy but slim, long legs too, she must be fairly tall. Her light brown waves swirled around her shoulders as he snapped away without even thinking about it. He could see her profile, kind of—glimpses of it anyway, as she moved. Nose that tilted up a bit at the tip, made his finger twitch to tap it. Turn around, he willed her, turn around…

  Nope, she shouldered her purse and carry-on, popped the handle of her suitcase up and headed into the hotel. He crossed the street fully intending to find a way to talk to her in the lobby, he was here for the night anyway, right? Might as well make use of the time.

  4

  He punched the answer button on his desk phone so hard it clattered across the glossy surface, stopping only when it hit the monitor stand.

  “What.” the word came out as a demand rather than a question.

  The room was hot, stifling, but he couldn’t open a window. The psychic was meditating, chanting low, under her breath, and the room had grown warmer as she worked. There was no science that could explain how a room heated when she chanted, how she was able to see what she was able to see. How she could draw power from an object or a person without touching them physically. But he’d seen it work. And it had to work, she was the last chance he had to save his daughter.

  They were close, he could feel it.

  “Sir, an update.” The words came out clipped and tight, a hold over from his military background. Victors didn’t event remember which one he was, but he only hired men with military experience. The discipline and weapons and tactics experience were vital.

  “We’re tailing Priestly as you ordered. He’s in Athens and has a flight scheduled out to one of the islands tomorrow morning.”

  “Perfect, he must be searching for the pendant, as his mother was. Keep on him. Let him do the legwork, he must have information that we don’t.”

  “Yes, sir.” The confident voice faltered a bit as he added, “One other thing, sir. We’ve, well, I’m sure I saw the sister here. The one I couldn’t get to in Colorado.”

  He held his tongue as he considered this new detail. The last thing he needed was someone else after the pendant, and that had to be the reason she was there. But, this also meant that he was definitely on the right track. The pendant had to be in Greece.

  “Keep an eye on her as well. I’m running out of time. Take whoever finds the pendant. If neither has it by midnight tomorrow night take them both. Convince them to move faster. Do whatever you have to do.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The hired hand clicked off without further comment, and Victors replaced the handset on the phone base with much more patience than he’d answered it with.

  Finally things were going his way.

  5

  Jami busied herself unpacking. She’d only be there one night, but it would make her feel better to have things in their place. She laid out her clothes for the next day on the small sofa in the seating area, arranged her toiletries by the sink, hell, she even folded her favorite nightshirt—the one Dad had gotten her years ago—and placed it neatly on the pillow.

  She turned back to the room. Now what? Her flight to Kefalonia didn’t depart until early tomorrow morning, and it was only 7 p.m. She needed to eat. She picked up the room service menu and frowned at the image she was presented with. A glossy photo showed off the view from their dining terrace. The Mediterranean tempting in glorious shades of green and blue, huge shrimp hung over the edge of a crystal martini glass, and what looked like a lovely rosé blushed in the background.

  She looked up, taking in the view of that same sea from her window, and made up her mind.

  Baby steps.

  She smiled at the young woman who greeted her at the entrance to the hotel’s restaurant downstairs. “English?”

  The woman nodded and waggled her fingers a bit. “Little.”

  Jami gestured. “May I sit outside?”

  She smiled widely. “Yes!” She escorted her to a table in the shade of the awning, overlooking the sea, and immediately a younger man arrived to pour her a cold glass of still water, leaving the bottle with its flip-top cork at the table for her.

  She ordered a glass of rosé, the one in the photo had looked so tempting, and a Greek salad. She pulled her iPad out of her purse and tapped to open the e-reader app. She could eat alone but she definitely needed the shield of something to do. She couldn’t help but look around though, peering over the tablet, ready to flick her eyes back to the screen if she accidentally caught someone’s eye.

  The Mediterranean Sea stretched out before her, gently undulating, in ripples more than waves, the occasional slim line of froth the only indication of a surf right now. Where the water near the beach was a clear green, showing off the pattern of rocks below the surface, it was cobalt blue and smooth as glass when she looked further out. The sea was dotted with dancing white boats, some with sails and others churning up a wake behind them with their motors. She was torn, the boats looked so free, but also scary, out there in the middle of that huge expanse. She’d be out on a boat tomorrow; she’d booked it during her layover. The agent she’d spoken to had assured her the guide would speak English, and that the boat would be equipped with everything she had asked about. Her stomach churned thinking about all the new things she’d have to be facing tomorrow, but she was committed now. Nothing would ever change if she didn’t make changes to herself.

  She was engrossed in her book when her salad arrived, and she enthused over it to the waiter before she had a chance to think about being nervous. “Oh my gosh, this is lovely, thank you!” She loved the colors and textures—the oily black of the olives, the rough surface of the white chunks of feta cheese, the deep greens and reds of the lettuce, tomatoes and sweet peppers that were piled in the bowl. Stunning. It made her long for her paints, actually. If she were at home, she could just wander into her sunroom, pick up a brush, and get to work.

  She was startled to hear her thoughts echoed in a stranger’s voice, “Looks almost like art, doesn’t it?”

  Her hand reached for her tablet as she reluctantly raised her eyes. He was tall, about six foot, and was standing with his back to the sea. The sun was setting, but it was far to her right, and rather than making it hard to see his face, he was lit up with glowy peaches and tangerines. He was wearing jeans and a striped linen shirt, with a dark-blue linen blazer. His blue-black hair was worn long, almost carelessly so, the layers in front flipping haphazardly back when he flicked them out of his eyes. Eyes the color smoke, or the mist coming off the ocean in the early hours before it was touched by the sun…edged in charcoal and shadows. Her fingers twitched for her paintbrush again. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “That salad, the colors—like art, right? Makes me want to take a picture.” At the alarm on her face he quickly added, “But don’t worry, I won’t.” He shoved the camera on its strap back behind him, as though to back up his claim.

  What was wrong with her? She could have said ‘go away’ politely in about ten different ways by now, but her voice seemed to be stuck. She cleared her throat. “Um, yea, sure. It’s very pretty. I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude, I just want to—”

  “I know, I’m interrupting, I’m sure you want to be left alone. A beautiful woman like you gets hit on all the time, I’m sure. Enjoy your meal.”

  He smiled easily and moved away, taking a seat at a table nearby. She propped her tablet up and read while she ate. Or, a
t least she pretended to read. She flipped the virtual pages but couldn’t have explained what was going on if someone paid her. She’d have to flip back tonight while reading in bed. She was irritated with herself that she cared what he thought enough to fake reading the book. She forced herself not to rush, though she could feel him there, two tables away. The salad was amazing, salty and sweet, exactly what she’d wanted. She swallowed her last sip of wine and was actually considering another glass when she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. She should go.

  “Hey, I was heading up for the night. I don’t want to freak you out, but I noticed that man over there watching you.” He gestured to a slim guy sitting by himself, facing her and away from the view. It was odd that anyone would be facing away from the water, even now that the sun had set. “I’m not positive, but he may have taken a photo of you with his phone.” He watched the hesitation in her eyes change to alarm. “Look, I could be wrong. I wanted to warn you, just in case.”

  “Thank you. I…I’ve never seen him before, but I’ve had problems with things like this in the past. I’ll head up for the night.”

  “Would you like me to walk you up? I don’t mind.”

  She bit her lip, considering. It had been over a year since anything had been printed about them in any tabloids that she knew of, but more than once she and Remi had been fooled by a reporter posing as a nice, normal person to get close enough for exclusive pictures. You’d think pics of them grocery shopping or taking their dog to the vet wouldn’t be that exciting, but that never stopped them from trying. This guy seemed normal, he had a camera, but so did every other person she’d seen. “Um, thanks, yes. I just need to get the check.”

  He stepped in and leaned over the table, offering her his hand. “My name is Valentine Priestly, call me Val.” She shook his hand and smiled.

  “I’m Jami.” She deliberately didn’t mention her last name. Just in case.

  Before she could say anything else, he had signaled for the waiter, somehow getting his attention without doing any of the asshole moves like snapping or beckoning. “Hi, the lady would like her check, please. And, can you tell me, is that man sitting alone over there a guest of the hotel?” He gestured subtly and the waiter was equally subtle when his gaze followed the gesture.

  “Yes, sir, I believe he is. Is there a problem?”

  “No, I thought he looked familiar, thank you.”

  Val waited for the server to depart before he continued, “Hmm, I guess that doesn’t help, one way or the other. Anyway, I’ll walk you up. I’m sure I was imagining things.”

  Jami appreciated his help, and she also didn’t mind the chance to observe him as he spoke to the waiter. He was very good looking, in a kind of grown-up surfer way. His hair made her think that he didn’t fuss with his appearance too much, and he had laugh lines feathering out from those incredible eyes that spoke of time grinning or sunning—or both. His hands looked strong, with fingers that were almost elegant. Nails well cared for but not manicured, and oh geez, a tattoo peeking out from under the rolled-up cuff of his shirt on his left forearm. Not enough to tell what it was though.

  She shivered a bit. She was definitely not a tattoo girl. At least, she never had been.

  He sat back and looked at her expectantly. Oh God, had he said something? Had she missed it because she was staring? Crap. “I’m sorry?”

  “For what?”

  “I didn’t catch what you said.”

  “I asked about the rosé, how was it?”

  “Oh. It was excellent, actually. Really lovely. Um, do you like wine?”

  “Oh yes, I’m from California, I think it’s in the blood. Plus, my mother—” He cut himself short, then looked away for the briefest second. “She loved a nice glass of wine. We used to have lunch on Sundays, and she loved choosing the wine.”

  Remi caught his hesitation, and his use of the past tense, but she didn’t want to pry. “So, I don’t want to be nosy, but are you here on vacation? Or working, perhaps?”

  “Well, a little of both, actually, if things pan out. How about you?”

  She looked confused for a second. “Well, neither, I guess you could say it’s a project.”

  “A project?” He raised his brow, prompting her to continue.

  Maybe it was the wine, or the soft air, or the amazing view of the lights glossing over the water…but she answered him more truthfully than she’d intended.

  “Yes, I’m doing some research. My family is trying to find something, I’m hoping I can do it, I really want to help.”

  “Ahh, feeling a little helpless, were you?”

  Her eyes were startled upon his. “What?”

  “I do that all the time. When I feel like something is out of my control, something is bothering me—I hate not being able to help, to do something. I find a project with a clear goal always helps.”

  She smiled at him. “Yes! That’s exactly it. I think I’m a bit of a control freak as it is,” she admitted ruefully. “My sister would be in hysterics at that, she’d say something like ‘OCD? More like CDO!’”

  He chuckled at the joke. “Yep, that sounds familiar. Ah, here’s the check.” He reached for his wallet, but Jami waved him off.

  “Oh no you don’t. I’ve got it. You didn’t even eat with me.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to presume, just a habit.”

  She shook her head to say no problem, signed the check to charge the meal to her room, and stood. He stepped back to allow her to slide past him, his hand hovering at her lower back but not touching her. She could feel its heat, through the sundress she was wearing. She almost wanted to sway back a bit, into that hand. Just to—Wow, what the hell? God, next thing she knew she’d be asking for his number. No, no, no. Baby steps yes, but that was a massive leap over a huge canyon, one filled with all manner of very bad things that could happen. Nope.

  Jami shivered a bit at the feel of the breeze on her still sun-warmed skin, and Val slung his linen jacket over her shoulders.

  She smiled at him without thinking about it, then caught herself, and reversed it to a frown. Not because she was upset, but because, well—why had she done that? She shook her head to clear it and noticed Val’s questioning look.

  “Oh, sorry. I , well, thank you for the jacket, that was thoughtful.”

  He nodded. “Of course.” He turned his head, casually looking around the lobby as they passed through towards the elevators. He pushed the button to call for one and turned to face her. She froze. What?

  He smiled. “Smile, like everything is fine. That guy is hanging out in the lobby, looking kind of aimless.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “The guy from the restaurant?”

  “Yep.” The huge grin on his face belied the seriousness of the topic, and also almost made her take a step back.

  “Should we do something? Mention it to hotel security?”

  “Sure, I can do that for you, if you like. First, I’d like to make sure he doesn’t know what floor you’re on, much less what your room number is.”

  The doors slid open with a whoosh and he had smoothly maneuvered her inside before she could say anything else. He pushed the buttons for floors five, seven and eight.

  OK, that was too weird. “What are you doing?” She hissed out, backing up to the other side of the elevator.

  “I’m on the seventh floor. Pushed a couple of extra buttons to confuse him. We’ll get off on seven and go to my room. I’ll call security, then I’ll walk you to your room. I don’t want to take the chance that he’ll track you down.”

  Jami pressed her back to the wall so hard the handrail was uncomfortable, not saying anything.

  “Hey, don’t worry. He won’t be able to figure this out.”

  “I’m on the seventh floor.”

  His face was transformed by that grin again. “Really? That’s a crazy coincidence. But good, though, then you’ll know you can get me if you need me.”

  She didn’t believe in co
incidences. Fate. Even all this magic woo woo that everyone else was buying into, she still didn’t believe it.

  The ding for the fifth floor startled her, but he didn’t flinch.

  He was going out of his way to be nice. Unless he was a creepier creep than the guy downstairs. Fuck. She pushed her lips together. She rarely swore, but maybe that was another thing she needed to change. “Fuck.”

  She flushed when she blurted it out, but Val looked at her, waiting for more.

  “How do I know you’re not just as bad, or worse?” She felt guilty saying it. Jesus. Backbone up girl. She crossed her arms and planted her feet, pushing away from the wall, trying to look more sure of herself than she felt.

  He responded calmly, in a level voice, as though he were speaking to one of the stray cats outside. He didn’t move, didn’t take a step toward her, but she somehow felt as though he were closer to her. “Logical question, and no way for me to prove I’m not. But, consider that we’re alone, in an elevator, and I haven’t touched you.”

  She had to admit that was a good point. But she wasn’t safe in her room yet. And she’d done this alone, no one even knew where she was. Maybe she needed to rethink that part of the plan.

  “I do appreciate your help. But I’d like to go to my room, not yours. I can call security.” She was a big girl. She’d call and report the weirdo. She would be fine. She watched Val’s face as he appeared to consider the options.

  He shrugged. “OK, fine by me. As long as you’re careful. Pretty woman, traveling alone—some people would consider you a target.”

  He was right. And quite possibly just a nice guy. A nice guy that was incredibly good looking. She could be less of a bitch.

  “Well, thank you, for telling me about him, and for escorting me up. But, well, I’m working on becoming more independent, and letting you do all of it for me kind of defeats the purpose.”